Read Online Schooling by Heather McGowan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heather McGowan
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Across the deserted morning to his chemistry lab to lean against the door.
You the brat? . . . shaken awake. A tall girl stands before her, red hair, jagged, lifted by the breeze.
Yes.
Aurora . . . the girl shakes out a ring of keys, shoving Catrine aside with her hip . . . Budge . . . pushing the door open . . . Sometimes I take a quick kip here myself . . . the girl chops on the lights . . . But don’t let them catch you.
Cold. Bunsen burners patient under his windows, floor swept clean. Up front, Gilbert’s lab bench, cycloned with cleaning powder.
Aurora stops, assesses her. Men’s shoes, overtheknee socks, tuck key strung on a chain around the neck, hair. Gently, the girl pulls out the V of Catrine’s sweater and drops the key down it.
Better. Nothing pretty about an old key . . . Aurora stops at a dial on the wall, lamenting softly to herself, then she disappears through a doorway in the back of the lab calling out . . . Don’t ever expect it to be anything but fucking freezing in here.
What does he think, sitting up here facing them all. Is a question. Second row, third seat across. There she is, directly in his eyeline, unkempt, odd, brunt of his jokes, object—
You American? . . . Aurora reappears cinching a lab coat. Aust—
I’ve got nothing to say about them one way or another . . . the lab coat swamps Aurora. Not a student coat, fraying, shrunk with use.
Gilbert’s?
Got the flu . . . Aurora shakes out a student coat from a pile, crumples it into a ball and hurls it across the room into Catrine’s lap.
I hate the green ones.
Don’t wear it then.
Walking over to the sinks, she threads the sash through a slit in one side of the ugly coat.
I used to watch an American show on television . . . Aurora hands her a pair of rubber gloves . . . Did you ever see it? Out in the West. About a cowboy and his friend Kid put those on . . . leaning . . . Pass me that sponge no that one. Kid, the cowboy always said, this is your cleaning sponge, the famous line. Kid, we’ve got miles to clear before daybreak. You never saw it? The cowboy always fell off his horse. That was the big joke. Everyone was terrified of him but the man couldn’t ride to save his life. Do you ride?
I galloped across Arabia on an apple tree I led rebelli—
I do. Or did. He and the Kid could never saddle up in front of anyone. Or they would know he was a crap cowboy . . . Aurora bends to a shelf beneath the lab counter. Out comes a plastic tub crammed with test tubes and beakers . . . Always wear gloves. Dishes’ve all been rinsed but God knows what chemical’s been left on. And we don’t want our fingers to wither up and drop off. So, we’ve got our gloves, we’ve got our favorite pink sponge . . . Aurora holds it up . . . And if you’re wondering where the dishes belong, I’ll tell you as we go.
Maybe it was an Australian show.
I know the difference between American and Australian. Kid could ride anything. Once even a buffalo. That’s why they were partners, you see. Made up for each other’s lapses. That’s how it works on television.
I remember now, Miles to clear before daybreak, that was the line.
Don’t lie to me, Kid. I can spot it a mile away . . . Aurora pulls back her hair with a damp yellow glove . . . So. Let’s have the story. Photographs . . . Aurora waits, holding up her gloved hands in a presurgery position . . . How did you get them to do it?
Well . . . checking the bottom of a petri dish for a prompt stamped in the ceramic . . . My father gave me a camera for Christmas.
Don’t look so worried, Kid, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.
They came upon me . . . that wasn’t right . . . I saw them, I thought I could take a picture . . . was that it then, she thought she was Rembrandt.
Then you asked, s’il vous plaît, might they strip?
Yes. Or I didn’t say anything and they just did it. I thought, well. Well, why not.
Why not indeed . . . Aurora strips off her rubber gloves, throws them on
You the brat? . . . shaken awake. A tall girl stands before her, red hair, jagged, lifted by the breeze.
Yes.
Aurora . . . the girl shakes out a ring of keys, shoving Catrine aside with her hip . . . Budge . . . pushing the door open . . . Sometimes I take a quick kip here myself . . . the girl chops on the lights . . . But don’t let them catch you.
Cold. Bunsen burners patient under his windows, floor swept clean. Up front, Gilbert’s lab bench, cycloned with cleaning powder.
Aurora stops, assesses her. Men’s shoes, overtheknee socks, tuck key strung on a chain around the neck, hair. Gently, the girl pulls out the V of Catrine’s sweater and drops the key down it.
Better. Nothing pretty about an old key . . . Aurora stops at a dial on the wall, lamenting softly to herself, then she disappears through a doorway in the back of the lab calling out . . . Don’t ever expect it to be anything but fucking freezing in here.
What does he think, sitting up here facing them all. Is a question. Second row, third seat across. There she is, directly in his eyeline, unkempt, odd, brunt of his jokes, object—
You American? . . . Aurora reappears cinching a lab coat. Aust—
I’ve got nothing to say about them one way or another . . . the lab coat swamps Aurora. Not a student coat, fraying, shrunk with use.
Gilbert’s?
Got the flu . . . Aurora shakes out a student coat from a pile, crumples it into a ball and hurls it across the room into Catrine’s lap.
I hate the green ones.
Don’t wear it then.
Walking over to the sinks, she threads the sash through a slit in one side of the ugly coat.
I used to watch an American show on television . . . Aurora hands her a pair of rubber gloves . . . Did you ever see it? Out in the West. About a cowboy and his friend Kid put those on . . . leaning . . . Pass me that sponge no that one. Kid, the cowboy always said, this is your cleaning sponge, the famous line. Kid, we’ve got miles to clear before daybreak. You never saw it? The cowboy always fell off his horse. That was the big joke. Everyone was terrified of him but the man couldn’t ride to save his life. Do you ride?
I galloped across Arabia on an apple tree I led rebelli—
I do. Or did. He and the Kid could never saddle up in front of anyone. Or they would know he was a crap cowboy . . . Aurora bends to a shelf beneath the lab counter. Out comes a plastic tub crammed with test tubes and beakers . . . Always wear gloves. Dishes’ve all been rinsed but God knows what chemical’s been left on. And we don’t want our fingers to wither up and drop off. So, we’ve got our gloves, we’ve got our favorite pink sponge . . . Aurora holds it up . . . And if you’re wondering where the dishes belong, I’ll tell you as we go.
Maybe it was an Australian show.
I know the difference between American and Australian. Kid could ride anything. Once even a buffalo. That’s why they were partners, you see. Made up for each other’s lapses. That’s how it works on television.
I remember now, Miles to clear before daybreak, that was the line.
Don’t lie to me, Kid. I can spot it a mile away . . . Aurora pulls back her hair with a damp yellow glove . . . So. Let’s have the story. Photographs . . . Aurora waits, holding up her gloved hands in a presurgery position . . . How did you get them to do it?
Well . . . checking the bottom of a petri dish for a prompt stamped in the ceramic . . . My father gave me a camera for Christmas.
Don’t look so worried, Kid, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.
They came upon me . . . that wasn’t right . . . I saw them, I thought I could take a picture . . . was that it then, she thought she was Rembrandt.
Then you asked, s’il vous plaît, might they strip?
Yes. Or I didn’t say anything and they just did it. I thought, well. Well, why not.
Why not indeed . . . Aurora strips off her rubber gloves, throws them on
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